“Martha,” he said, returning to the thought of his duty, “I have something to say. You can hear it now. My mother declares that I am her lawful son, born in wedlock—she gave me her solemn word—but more than that she will not allow me to ask, saying she's bound for a time, and something, I don't know what, must happen before she can set herself right in the eyes of the world. I believe her, Martha, and I want that you should believe her, for her sake and for mine. I can't make things clear to you, now, because they're not clear to myself; only, what she has declared is and must be true! I am not base-born, and it'll be made manifest, I'm sure; the Lord will open her mouth in his own good time—and until then, we must wait! Will you wait with me?”
He spoke earnestly and hurriedly, and his communication was so unexpected that she scarcely comprehended its full import. But for his sake, she dared not hesitate to answer.
“Can you ask it, Gilbert? Whatever your mother declares to you, must be true; yet I scarcely understand it.”
“Nor can I! I've wearied my brains, trying to guess why she can't speak, and what it is that'll give her the liberty at last. I daren't ask her more—she fainted dead away, the last time.”
“Strange things sometimes happen in this world,” said Martha, with a grave tenderness, laying her hand upon his arm, “and this seems to be one of the strangest. I am glad you have told me, Gilbert,—it will make so much difference to you!”
“So it don't take you from me, Martha,” he groaned, in a return of his terrible dread.
“Only Death can do that—and then but for a little while.”
Here Miss Betsy Lavender made her appearance, but without the sage.
“How far a body can see, Martha,” she exclaimed, “since the big gum-tree's been cut down. It lays open the sight o' the road across the creek, and I seen your father ridin' down the hill, as plain as could be!”
“Betsy,” said Gilbert, “I wanted to ask you about coming down our way.”